A Home For the Holidays
by DeniseV
Summary: A Christmas story.


Buck Wilmington looked conspiratorially to his left, and then over to his right, leaned in close to his fellow lawmen and said, "She jumped on top of me and started doin' things," he cooed and hummed, practically singing the last two words. "I tell you, she was somethin' else."

Ezra Standish barked out a laugh. "That," he started, followed by a harsh cough, "is about the, what would you say, Mistah Tanner," he asked of one of his companions, the sly smirk clear on his face and in every note of his tenor, "fiftieth time we have heard that story?" he continued, coughing again before he finished, "Ah am sure you all agree."

"At least," Vin Tanner agreed with a wicked grin, and furrow of the brow, squint of the eye and cock of the head only witnessed by their target – the gambler – who chose to ignore the silent concern.

"Yeah," J.D. Dunne chimed in.

"And such a lovely story for this time of the year," he said, waving to the calendar on the wall which noted the date as December twenty-second. He coughed some more after barely getting the sentence out.

The tracker looked to the card sharp, who now seemed incapable of any speech, hard as that was to believe, with all that coughing. "You best get Nathan to have a look at that," the soft-spoken man said to his friend, making the extra effort to verbalize his worry after the earlier rebuke of his unspoken concern.

J.D. took a swig from his mug of milk. "Yeah, Ez, that sounds pretty bad."

Buck looked around the table, noticing how nobody seemed interested in his story any longer. "Hey, what about me?" he asked. He wasn't used to his stories not being the complete focus of everyone's attention. Maybe he was losing his touch.

J.D. waved his hand at his friend. "Ain't nothin' new there."

"Oh yeah?" Buck queried as he slapped at his young friend's hat. J.D. moved out of the way just in time to avoid having the bowler hat tossed from his head … for what had to have been the hundredth time since they'd all come together to protect the town over three years ago.

Chris Larabee smiled indulgently at the two dark-haired mens' antics, but his real interest was elsewhere. He watched as the gambler finally finished with this round of coughing. He didn't speak, which was not uncommon for the former gunslinger, but his glare alone was all that Ezra needed to know that Chris agreed with the two youngest members of their law enforcement team. Despite the fact that talking made his cough worse, Ezra felt compelled to explain why he had not yet seen their healer.

"Mistah Jackson, as you are all aware …" he started, a cough coursing up from his chest to stop him from continuing. After catching his breath, and viewing the worried faces all around him, he went on, " … has been burdened with caring for the McDonough clan and with the pending new arrivals of both Missus Mannion and Missus Irons, their newborns threatening to arrive on what is by many accounts a most auspicious date." He coughed and then added, "Ah will attempt to see him this afternoon," he noted, followed by more coughs and then, "as Ah find this illness draining." He breathed heavily at the end, which only brought on another round of coughing.

This was the third year in a row that Ezra had been afflicted with this early winter cough. Those first two times he had grown progressively sicker, ending up just short of lung fever, but very, very sick indeed. All of his friends had worried for him, but to a decidedly different extent that second year, which, for Ezra, was comforting and annoying all at once. It had proved what he had always thought: that he hadn't really been close with these men that first year, not the way they seemed to be with one another. But it was only a momentary annoyance, for he knew now that he had been accepted, by these men and by the townspeople. He couldn't imagine staying in this backwater town forever, but he couldn't currently see any reason to leave, either. This was the earliest he had ever gotten the cough – he'd been disinclined to reveal that the cough had been a burden that had haunted him most every winter he'd spent outside his native south since he was a young child - and it was looking like it was going to ruin his Christmas this year. It wasn't so much the holiday that would be ruined as it was the camaraderie of celebrating with his fellows that he would miss if all he did was sleep the holiday away.

"It's kind of irritating to the rest of us, too, hoss," the ladies' man added.

"Buck," Chris warned. It was just the type of comment that the leader of The Magnificent Seven didn't want to hear directed toward the con man. After last year's debacle with Ezra over the blood money that had saved his life, Chris had hoped that the most frustrating member of their group knew that his worth to them was far higher, his importance to them and the town ran far deeper than the southerner had previously realized. It had taken long conversations, some of them somewhat drunken, most sober - in more ways than one – to convince their seventh of that worth. Chris didn't need an offhand comment from Buck to mess up that progress.

"No offense was taken, Mistah Larabee. Ah can," he went on after being interrupted by another cough, "understand Buck's dismay. B'lieve me, Ah can feel his pain." He coughed again, as though for emphasis. "Mah coughin' is bound to ruin the sound of the carolers this yeah."

"Sorry, Ez," Buck said. "I know it's gotta be a hundred times worse for you." The compassionate gunman placed his hand on Ezra's shoulder and rubbed it warmly.

"Hey, look," J.D. announced. "Ain't that the Stouts' dog?" They had all been sitting outside on the boardwalk of the saloon, enjoying their morning coffee and some scones sent over by Nettie Wells as they discussed the schedule for patrols for the remainder of the week. With Nathan simply too busy, Chris had decided to make some changes. The drizzly rain that had started just as they stepped out of doors a while back had made the decision even harder; he couldn't, in good conscience, send Ezra out in this with that cough. Nathan would have his hide if he did, and he'd learned long ago that Nathan Jackson was not someone to be messed with.

"Sure is," Buck agreed. "Hey, fella," he called, trying to encourage the orange and white hound dog out of the street. But the dog just stood there, staring at Ezra.

"He's cute, ain't he?" J.D. asked, directing his question to no one in particular. "Wish he'd come outta the street. He could get kicked real easy by a horse," he said more seriously. "Come on, boy!" he called urgently, but still the dog stood his ground. And in the increasingly heavier rain, no less. And he only had eyes for the man in the flashy red coat.

"Seems to be waitin' on you, Ezra," Vin suggested.

"You been feedin' that dog on patrol, Ezra?" Chris asked.

"Ah have," he said, but hardly got started before a severe coughing fit overtook him. His face was flushed and he was well out of breath when he continued, "Ah have been … showing young Master Stout … and his lovely sister Miss Elsbeth … how to train … his dog, just basic … obedience and some tricks. Ah do … usually have something … to reward Fred." His coughing had become routine now, it seemed, as Ezra Standish was not one to proscribe to the philosophy that would allow something as inconsequential as a cough to stop him from having his say. Nathan might have something to say about that philosophy, but he wasn't currently around.

"Fred? The dog's name is Fred?" J.D. asked. Chris smiled. Leave it to Ezra to be the only one of them to learn the animal's name.

"Indeed," Ezra said, "though it is a shortened … version of what he was named. The Stouts … are of German descent … and named the dog Friedrich. Ah have … some difficulty callin' … such a lovely and loving creature Friedrich. Master Stout, Elsbeth and Ah … agreed that Fred is bettah."

"Ain't that Mr. and Mrs. Stout's decision to make?" Vin asked.

"One would think," Ezra said disdainfully. He stood and said mildly, "Fred," and then made a movement with his hand. The dog skittered in an earnest J.D. Dunne manner and quickly made it to the con man up on the boardwalk. "Sit," he ordered, accompanied by a different hand gesture. The dog sat and Ezra fished for a small piece of kibble in his pants pocket. The dog waited for the treat, and the con man placed his hand down at Fred-level. The hound lunged for the treat, his soft, jowly maw exposing sharp, white teeth as he attempted to envelop the back of Ezra's hand, though he stopped at biting down once he realized there was no prize … just the hand that occasionally fed him. Ezra admonished the dog. "No, Fred. Easy." He coughed as he offered the treat once more. This time, the dog took the treat with less violence but no less enthusiasm. "He resembles nothin' if not … a deadly shark at times … still when he goes for … his reward," he managed through the coughing.

"Looked like he thought your finger was a better treat for a minute there," Buck noted.

"Yes. It is strange … as he is the most sweet-natured … and gentle little man," Ezra said as he crouched in front of the dog. "A true gentleman … in every other way." At that moment, the small dog chose to lick at his private parts. "Well … " he frowned, coughed, and then added, "in almost every way."

"If we could do that as easily as he's doin' it, we'd be doin' it, and you know it," Buck observed. Chris and J.D. laughed.

Ezra smiled and nodded his head in reluctant agreement. "Another happy Christmas message from our very own elf, Buck Wilmington," Ezra said in jest. He tapped his knee and Fred stepped up on it with his front paws. "You see, light as a feather. He is wonderful with the children." He coughed some more and then added, "Even without the lessons."

"So why're ya training him?" J.D. asked. Chris rolled his eyes and shook his head. If they kept asking the man questions, he would continue to talk. Chris was pretty sure Ezra liked to hear himself talk; he had to admit, there was a definite comfort in the lilting, accented voice, especially when what the man was saying wasn't pressing on the tall blond's last nerve.

"He is just a dog, J.D. And as you saw … he still could use some manners." To the dog, Ezra asked, "Kiss?" Buck, Vin, J.D. and Chris all scrunched their faces up at the thought; they all knew where that tongue had been last. But Fred just stared at him, his amber eyes wide and alert. "This dog is not a kisser."

"I can get him to kiss," Buck said. Chris snorted a laugh, and they all chimed in with a chuckle at what Buck proudly declared. "I can," the tall gunman insisted.

"You seem mighty proud of that claim, Buck," Chris said lightheartedly.

J.D. confirmed what Buck had been saying for a long time now. "See, Buck does have animal magnetism." He quickly stepped to the other side of the gambler to avoid the requisite slap to the head from his best friend.

Still kneeling, Ezra said, "Up," and the dog jumped up on his right knee, confidently balancing on all fours on just one knee. It seemed a precarious position until Ezra said, "Hug." Fred placed his paws on either of Ezra's shoulders and then laid his head in the crook of the con man's neck. Ezra hugged him tight, a 'good boy' heard whispered into the canine's ear, eliciting smiles from his peacekeeping brethren. It was a rare thing for Ezra Standish to hug, though he was quite generous with a soothing or encouraging embrace of children. And he was always there with a comforting hand to the back or shoulder, when needed. That used to be reserved for only his compatriots, but his friends had noted a willingness in the man to offer such touches to more and more of the townsfolk as well. But, what they were witnessing now, this was definitely out of the ordinary: the fastidious southern gentleman allowing his fancy clothes to become muddy and wet without a long dissertation on the cost of cleaning 'such fine haberdashery'. Just as they were drinking in the heartwarming sight, a scream was heard down the avenue, making the dog jump from Ezra's arms and into the wet main street. The force of the push sent Ezra to his backside on the boardwalk, a splash of muddy water landing on his chest from Fred's sudden leap into a puddle from several steps up. They all looked to where the scream had come from, and saw several women and a couple of men helping another woman up out of the muddy street. They also saw three men, racing their horses, coming their way.

"Idiots." Buck said what the rest of them were thinking.

"Let's stop 'em," Chris ordered as he, Buck and Vin moved swiftly off the boardwalk and into the street to where the horses and their riders were heading.

"Fred!" J.D. called. The dog stayed put in the mud.

"Fred, come," Ezra said, calm but firm. The dog was looking toward the oncoming trio of horses, seemingly frozen in place. Chris, Vin and Buck stood in the way of the coming stampede, but the riders seemed to take little heed and appeared ready to run their race straight through the lawmen. Ezra saw that his friends were not going to be able to stop the fools in time as the three were forced to move to the side as the horses barreled through. He decided in a split second what needed to be done: he ran out and dove to grab Fred. He looked up, saw the strong equine legs coming his way, and folded into a tight circle, protecting the dog – and as much of his body as possible – as best he could. The riders, seeing that something lay in their path, did try to avoid it, but one of the horses clipped the gambler; his body moved, twice, and then remained still. Buck, his horse standing ready for a planned morning of exercise, and Vin, just back from visiting Chanu and his peoples' newly-sited village, checked the cinches on their saddles and quickly headed out to catch the threesome who had endangered so many as they rode dangerously through their town, as Chris and J.D. ran to check on Ezra.

"Damn," J.D. said.

"Go get Nathan," Chris ordered as he sank his knees into the mud next to his now muddy, increasingly drenched and seemingly unconscious friend. Josiah Sanchez ran up to them from behind and knelt next to Ezra on the far side from Chris.

"Nate and I saw what was happening, knew he'd be needed. He stopped at the clinic for his bag," the former preacher explained.

"Ezra," Chris called. He placed his hand on the man's shoulder and heard a pained moan. "Ezra?" he asked, afraid to move him before Nathan had a chance to look at him.

"Good … " Ezra started, but was interrupted by a long, harsh series of coughs. He followed that by moaning at the pain the spasms caused and then spit out mud from his mouth. He ended softly with, " … Lord."

"Thank the Lord seems more like it," Josiah said, grateful for Ezra's wakefulness.

"'s a mattah of opinion, Josiah," Ezra uttered softly. "Fred." He looked down at his stomach, where the dog had curled into a tiny ball, much smaller than the hound's nearly thirty pounds should allow. The orange and white dog looked up at the other men surrounding them, whimpered, and then folded up even closer to Ezra's body.

"Where're ya hurt, Ezra?" Chris asked, his hand still grasping the gambler's shoulder in a comforting manner.

"Chris, his head is bleeding, pretty badly," J.D. said. The young man had the best angle looking down at the con man, and could see the blood pooling beneath Ezra's head.

"Ezra, can we take the dog?" Chris suggested questioningly. He knew they'd need to clear the animal away in order for the healer to perform a proper examination. "He ain't gonna bite us if we do, is he?"

The gambler groaned trying to spit out the last of the mud, and then answered, "As Ah … previously … expressed … " he started, the pain and the coughing making the going slow, "he is a gentleman."

"Yeah, yeah, just like you," Chris noted skeptically. The gunslinger would definitely classify Ezra as a gentleman, but he didn't know the dog all that well, and only had Ezra's word to go on.

"He will not bite," the downed man growled, a clear indication – or warning – that Ezra himself well could.

"J.D.," Chris said quietly with a nod to the dog, conceding to his friend's assurances. The young man moved in close and reached for the frightened animal.

"It's all right, Fred. Ezra won't be far." J.D.'s calm, soothing tone seemed to help ease the dog's fears and he was able to extract him from Ezra's grasp with little effort. Nathan showed up just as J.D. stepped away with the dog.

"Ezra?" Nathan asked, seeing that his southern friend was conscious. "Tell me where you're hurting." The healer didn't want to move the injured man until he knew more, and he hoped that Ezra would be able to tell him where he hurt most.

"Mistah Jackson, would … you b'lieve me if Ah said … ever'where?"

"I would." The former slave had been witness , at a distance, to the horses trampling the man. "But I'd like to hear where you think you hurt most," the healer countered as he wiped away the rain and mud accumulated on his friend's face. "I'd like to avoid hurtin' you more."

"Much obliged," Ezra said, followed by a loud, barking cough. Nathan frowned as Ezra continued. "Ah am certain that Ah was clipped on the side of mah head." Ezra winced as he answered the question. That injury they could all see as the blood pooled in a swirl of dirt and rainwater beneath his right ear. He lay on his right side, which meant the entire length of his left side had been exposed to potential injury. His eyes were closed and Nathan feared losing him to unconsciousness soon, so he urgently asked more questions.

"Where else?" he asked, gently moving the wet bangs from their plastered place over his hurting friend's eyes.

"Mah hip, left … all the way down … to below mah knee." Nathan nodded to Chris, Josiah and J.D.; none of them were surprised to hear that. "Ah think mah … right arm may be broken. Ah thought … Ah heard a crack, but … Ah cannot be sure." Instinct had forced him into the street, but everything since then just seemed to be about pain. But now, he was starting to feel other things. "C … Cold," he said, coughed, and then, "W … Wet."

"That cough new?" Nathan asked.

"Can we get him out of the street before we get into that?" Chris asked. The light rain from earlier had turned to a steady downpour.

"Yeah," Nathan agreed. "Ezra, we're gonna take you into the back room of the saloon for now, get you out of this weather."

"A s … sound plan," the hurting lawman agreed. His eyes were closed but they popped open suddenly, pain evident, but more so worry as he asked with concern, "Fred?" The coughing now seemed more than it was, as the continued talking was allowing rainwater to wash mud into his mouth.

"I got him. I'll take care of him," J.D. assured his friend.

"Th … Thank you, Mistah Dunne." Ezra coughed, Nathan frowned, and then Ezra added, "We w … will need t … to ascertain wh … why Fred is in town." He trembled from the chill of the cold rain, but Nathan and Chris shared a glance that showed concern for something more.

"We'll worry on that," Chris said. "You just worry about relaxing and lettin' Nathan help ya."

"Josiah, mind his arm and head as I turn him on his back." Nathan and Josiah arranged the gambler flat on the increasingly muddy ground.

"Disgusting," Ezra chimed in between moans and coughs.

"This is gonna hurt more than your clothes gettin' dirty, once we lift ya," Nathan warned.

"Mmnng," Ezra replied as he groaned through the pain and the wet and the cold. The healer felt the arm and found the break. He positioned the arm in between the buttons of the fancy brocade vest.

"I'll set that and look at you more closely once we get you inside. Josiah, you can grab his legs, ain't no breaks there, but careful with his knee." Nathan turned to the leader of the Seven. "Chris, take his left side, I'll get the right. J.D., have Inez boil up some water, then get some blankets. And we're all gonna need a change of clothes."

"I'll go mention the water to Inez, and then I'll speak with Gloria about gathering some blankets," Mary Travis said. She had arrived as Nathan gave his orders. "I'll head back to the saloon to help as soon as I can."

"Thank you, Missus Travis," Nathan said. Chris smiled gratefully at the pretty blond.

Ezra would have screamed at the pain as he was lifted … if they'd been out of town, out in the desert. Away from delicate ears. He thought he'd told Nathan everywhere he hurt, except as it turned out, he really did hurt everywhere.

By the time they reached the back room, Inez already had a cot made up, the thickness of the bed doubled, and a stack of towels and several blankets littered a spindle-legged table and a rickety chair. Mary had returned quickly and was feeding the small wood stove that Inez only managed to mind irregularly with her other responsibilities minding the saloon. Most days the fire ended up burning out before she would get the chance to stoke it. The fact was that during colder weather, it was usually Ezra who kept it going; his room was just above this one and, as such, he would be the prime beneficiary from the residual heat.

"Josiah, there is a large bucket of hot water … " Inez started.

"I'll come fetch it," the big man agreed.

"Missus Travis, Inez, you might want to get along," Nathan suggested as he quickly removed his hat and coat. "We all need to get out of these wet clothes."

"As soon as I get this fire good and hot, I'll take my leave, Nathan. I'll help Inez get more hot water ready while we're gone. We'll be back in ten minutes," Mary advised.

Nathan moved to Ezra and started to remove his clothes. Josiah returned with the water, and then helped his friend with Ezra. Chris looked on anxiously and then stepped up to the fire and said, "I'll finish here, Mary. Can you get us some coffee and some whiskey?"

"Of course," she said, her pale green eyes, her entire demeanor, fretful, but still steady and calm. Her outer clothes were wet, too, but she hadn't been out in the rain as long as the rest of them. She handed the piece of wood she was readying for the stove to Chris, finally removed her coat and shawl, and headed out the door with Inez. She stopped and looked back, looking Chris in the eyes and asked, "Those men, what were they thinking?" Her fear for what might have been – how a small child like Billy could ever have survived a similar beating to what Ezra sustained – was clear in her face … she didn't have to voice it.

"I don't know. Hopefully Vin and Buck caught up to them," Chris said, working hard to contain his anger. He tossed the piece of wood harder than necessary into the woodstove, causing sparks to fly out into the room. He took a deep breath to calm himself. The pretty newspaper woman witnessed the display of anger, nodded her head more at what Chris said than what he did, and turned back to Inez.

"Let's go get something hot for them to eat, too, Inez," she said as she stepped away.

"What about the dog?" the pretty Mexican asked. J.D. had dropped off the now-filthy dog before heading on his errands.

"It doesn't look like he's going anywhere," Chris said. The smooth-coated, short-haired hound shivered and looked sad, and appeared as miserable as Ezra must have felt.

Through a moan they heard, "Fred, come." A cough followed, and Fred came quickly and quietly to Ezra at the cot, stepping gently on the edge of it with one paw. "Mistah Larabee, if you … take a blanket … set it by the fire … Ah b'lieve Fred … will just lay q … quietly." All of this was said between smothered moans and persistent coughs … and not a little bit of trembling. "Ah am w … worried that he … is here. W … We may … have … t … to … go … to … see …"

"Ezra, stop talking," Chris ordered. "_We_ aren't going anywhere. Once Vin and Buck get back, and the rain slows, we'll send someone out to the Stout's." Chris had his own sense that something was awry. None of them had ever seen the dog in town before. What would have caused the animal to be so many miles away from home? That question was a mystery waiting to be solved. There was no mystery, however, based on Ezra's story about the time he'd spent with Fred and the Stout children, why the dog managed to find the one person outside his 'family' that he trusted.

"Th … Thank you. Th … There … must … be … "

"That's enough, Ezra. Why don't you just relax while I look you over," Nathan suggested. Ezra sighed, coughed, and then spoke no more. It was as though his tired mind realized that he had no need to say any more, just before his tired body chose to give him no choice in the matter.

J.D. entered, soaking wet and carrying a huge pile in his hand. "Got a coupla blankets we can dry by the fire. They helped to keep the clothes dry," he explained, taking a deep breath and dropping his huge bundle to the floor.

"Good thinkin', J.D."

"Thanks, Josiah. I gotta go back out and get yours."

"I can do that later, son."

"No, Josiah. Let him go get it." Nathan looked over to the young easterner. "Go on, but come right back." To Josiah, Nathan said, "Help Ezra get some water in him." The healer finally got all of Ezra's armaments and outer clothes off. "Chris, you and me should quickly change into dry clothes." Nathan started removing his drenched vest , shirt and pants. As he did so, he said, "Once he's had a drink, get the rest of Ezra's clothes offa him. Then I can get a better look at where he's hurt himself."

"Ah … did … not … hurt … mahself," the gambler insisted. Voicing his objection to Nathan's phrasing cost the man as he entered into a painful spasm of coughing.

"This ain't an English lesson, Ezra. Now shut up," Chris said, his voiced tinged more with disquiet than anger.

"What about gettin' him in this nightshirt?" Josiah asked.

"Nightshirt?" Nathan asked. He knew that J.D. hadn't made it upstairs to Ezra's room for a change of clothes. Nathan and Chris looked at each other, and then over to Josiah and Ezra. They were all confused as everyone turned to J.D. for an explanation.

The young man shrugged and suggested, "Mary musta got it from Mrs. Potter," as he went on to his next errand.

"Gloria must have sent a new one along," Chris deduced from J.D.'s helpful hint.

"A l … lovely, l … lady … "

"Ezra!" Nathan, Chris and Josiah warned.

"F … Fine," Ezra grouched before taking a little more water. Josiah finished removing all of the con man's clothes. Everything was soaked through and muddy.

"I'll take over from here," Nathan said as he wiped the worst of the mud and wet, sweat and blood from the injured lawman. He placed a blanket over Ezra, from the man's waist to his feet and started in on examining his head and arm. The nightshirt could wait until they'd gotten Ezra all cleaned and bandaged.

"One of 'em get away?" Chris asked as Vin and Buck returned with two of the men who had wreaked such havoc in their town. He could tell that his two friends were just about done in. Though the rain had stopped, the two men looked like they had just ridden through a shower of mud. They were both so brown that they nearly were not distinguishable as Vin Tanner and Buck Wilmington. They both remained on their feet, but not without help: Vin from leaning up against the wall near the jailhouse exit, giving off a vibe that he was just itching to get going through that nearby doorway, and Buck setting his hip on the edge of the desk.

"Got away, but got shot when he fired at us," Buck said.

"I told him he shouldn't fire," the youngest of the two said from his cot to his incarcerated friend in the cell next to him. Chris had insisted on keeping them separated, for now.

"Figured we could get these two back here, see what they know 'bout who he was 'n' where he would go," Vin explained.

"Never happen," the other one of the also thoroughly muddy men behind the bars said.

Chris stepped up to the jail cell. "I hope you're not expected anywhere for Christmas, 'cause until you tell us why you threatened all those people in town this morning, you ain't going anywhere."

"Didn't threaten nobody," the first one to talk spoke again.

Buck walked up to the cell. "Me and my friend are heading over for a bath and a hot meal. You think on that. Whaddya think Chris, feed 'em in the morning?"

"Maybe." He turned and walked toward Vin, Buck following. "You boys go ahead and get cleaned up and eat something."

"How's Ez?" Vin asked.

"I'll tell ya outside." They headed for the main door of the jailhouse.

"Hey, you can't make us sit here like this."

Chris turned back. "Like what?"

"Dirty, wet and cold," the first one said.

"There's a fire goin', and blankets in your cells.

"Hey!" the second one yelled.

"Shut up!" all three of the regulators said as they left. Outside, Vin turned and waited expectantly for his answer.

"He's gonna be all right. Broke his right arm, got a cut and a bruise from a horseshoe near his right ear," Chris explained.

"Lucky," Vin said. Buck frowned at his soft-spoken friend. "Musta been just a glancin' blow. Full on kick from a shoed horse … not many survive that."

"Yeah," Buck agreed.

"Nathan said he'll be dizzy from that 'glancing blow' for a while," Chris noted, emphasizing Vin's words. "But he ain't gonna feel like movin' around much, anyway. Took a real bad beating on his upper thigh and his knee. Nothing broke there, but Nathan says the bruise is bad. Could be some muscle damage to his thigh and maybe up to his hip. Looks like he got smacked hard on the knee, the force of the blow twisted it."

"Sounds a mess," Buck offered.

"Yeah, and all because he had to save that damned dog," Chris said, annoyed.

"Now, now, don't go sayin' stuff like that. You know you'd've done the same thing," Buck insisted. The tall gunman knew Chris Larabee longer than anybody around; he'd been the only one there when Sarah and Adam … . Well, he knew the man had a soft side, despite how hard Chris had tried to smother it, either consciously and purposefully, or through the muddled delirium of drink.

Chris looked to Buck and then to Vin. "You would've, cowboy," the man from Texas said.

Chris looked back and forth to each man. Finally, he settled on Vin. "Shut up," he said as he stepped back to the door.

"Looks like you've been told off," Buck said.

"Shut up, Buck," Chris called as he closed the door behind him.

The two muddy men laughed. "Let's go get cleaned up and see how Ezra's doin'," Buck suggested.

"Bath, food, drink, Ezra," Vin said.

"I'll add a nap to that list, and I'm sure Ez'll be pleased to see where he sits in your order of priorities," Buck said. Vin pushed his friend off the boardwalk and kicked mud at him. Buck returned the slap of mud to Vin's buckskins with his own boot. They separated in the street, slapping each other on the shoulder and then heading off to pick up clean clothes, intent to get those other things on the list done so that they could get to their real priority for the day, who lay recovering in the back room of the saloon.

Back in the jail, Chris asked, "Change your mind?" as he poured himself a cup of coffee. He took just a few long strides and eased himself into the chair behind the desk, foregoing putting his feet up on the desk as he normally would in deference to the drying mud still covering his boots. He looked out the window, watching as his two friends, one without doubt his oldest and dearest, the other newer, a man with whom he shared a closeness that he'd not had with anyone other than Buck – and Sarah – horsed around on their way to clean off the filth that had accumulated as they had captured the other filth presently in the barred room just steps from where he sat. He turned back to the men, waiting on an answer, his face as inscrutable as ever.

"We was just havin' a race," one of them said.

"Casp!" the other one warned.

"Mel, we knocked that lady into the mud."

"She shoulda watched where she was goin'." So far, Chris had only parts of what he assumed were first names but, even more, he had what seemed like a rift between the two … brothers? He couldn't be sure, but they spoke with each other as though they'd known each other a long time. He was sure that when he spoke with Buck, people saw a brotherly attitude, and he knew it could be seen when he and Vin talked; even Chris could feel it with Vin. He'd known Buck for so long that it didn't surprise him, but with Vin it was unexpected, and definitely a welcome feeling. He wondered, if people saw his conversations with Buck and Vin as brotherly, what did they think when they were witness to a discussion between him and Ezra? That would be something to hear, as on any given day Chris was pretty sure he sounded like he wanted to kill the man. He tore his thoughts away from his friends and went back to eavesdropping on the conversation at hand.

"We coulda killed her." The one called 'Mel' sat, choosing not to answer this observation from 'Casp'. "And one of us coulda got hurt when we avoided whatever that was that was in the street. Balthy almost lost his seat."

"Casp! Shut up!" Mel said.

"You didn't avoid what that was in the street. And it was a man, by the way," Chris said, standing and heading ominously toward the cell. "My friend. He charged into the street to save a damned dog that you would likely not even have worried about killing in order to finish your damned race," he ground out, his teeth clenched. "Now tell me, where can I find your friend." The two just kept their heads down, though Casp did occasionally lift his head, in what Chris sensed was the hope that Mel could be convinced to talk.

"Fine. You'll stay here until the judge arrives."

"When'll that be?"

"Day after tomorrow," Chris said.

"But that's Christmas Eve," Casp said, looking pleadingly to his cell mate.

"Yeah, it is," Chris said. "But the judge won't be hearing your case until Monday."

"Monday?" Mel yelled, jumping up from his seat. "You can't keep us here that long."

"That's two days after Christmas, Mel," the young man said.

"It's okay. He won't keep us that long. He can't," Mel said, looking to Chris with a challenging glare.

"Well I can. You shoulda thought about that before you barreled through my town endangering its citizens, people I care about. The judge has a daughter-in-law and a grandson who live here. He ain't gonna take too kindly to what ya did. Might be lenient on you if you give up the third man."

"We're brothers," the younger of the two blurted out.

"Casp! God damn it!"

"Don't blaspheme, Mel. And it don't matter now," Casp said to his older brother. He turned to Chris. "But we didn't kill no one." Casp looked Chris in the eyes and said, "If we did, you woulda said we were bein' held for killing that fella." He turned back to his older brother. "Come on, it was an accident, Mel. We should tell him."

"Not too sure you can say what you did was an accident. Were you _accidentally_ racing your horses in the vicinity of pedestrians?" Chris asked.

"Well … no. But we didn't intentionally cause no one harm."

Chris smirked. The kid sounded like a combination of J.D. and Ezra. "Look, it's the Christmas season. And the judge is likely to be extra benevolent." _Now who was sounding like Ezra?_ "But not without knowing where your brother … Balthy is." What the hell kind of names were these, anyway?

Mel shook his head, tsked disgustedly at his brother and said, "Balth shot at those other two."

"Yeah," Chris agreed.

"What'll happen to him?"

"You're lucky he has lousy aim." They did hurt Ezra but, knowing the gambler so well after nearly three years working with him – and becoming friends, however reluctantly on both their parts - Chris knew that Ezra would rather that they spent their time figuring out why that dog was running around town alone rather than get any retribution for what had been done to him.

"You live near here?" Chris asked. The door to the jail opened and Josiah stepped in, an imposing figure backlit by the afternoon sun.

"Brother," he said to Chris, followed by, "Nate wants to see you."

Chris walked over to the preacher and spoke to him softly. "I want you to talk to these boys. I think they're ready to give up where their brother is." Even softer he added, "I think they're just new to the area and were lettin' off steam and it went too far." He looked back at his prisoners and shook his head, as disgusted with himself as he was with these boys. Sarah loved Christmas, and she would have wanted him to be forgiving with these young men, to give them the benefit of the doubt. And damn it if Ezra wouldn't want the same. He looked back to Josiah.

Shit.

"See what you can find out," Chris said as he stepped to the door. He turned back to face all three men left in the jailhouse. "Casp and Mel, this is Josiah. I suggest you talk to him." Chris opened the door and headed out.

Josiah turned, gave the men his patented all-knowing and decidedly forbidding stare and said, "Mel and Casp, is it?"

Chris stepped in to the back room of the saloon. He quickly closed the door to retain the warmth that he felt in the room; he'd always previously thought of the room as cold and drafty. Nathan stood and met him at the entryway that led to the main part of the drinking establishment.

"How's he doing?"

Nathan cocked his head to the side, an easy tell that what he was going to say was nowhere near the entire story. "He's resting," he started as he looked to his patient, and then he raised an eyebrow as he looked back to Chris, "but he won't sleep until he hears what we're doin' about that dog."

Chris looked at the position of the cot, which had been moved somewhat closer to the stove; he had no doubt that Nathan and Josiah had moved it with the gambler still on board. He smiled at the thought. He also noticed that the dog was cleaned up and a fresh bed provided for him, close enough for Ezra's hand to reach down to Fred's side, which it now did. Chris shook his head and looked back to the healer.

"It's stopped raining, and I told him we'd go check it out. Can you go find J.D. for me? He and I will head out to the Stout's and see what's goin' on."

"You takin' the dog with?"

"No. Somehow I get the feelin' I'd be bringin' him back if I did."

"You think somethin' happened to 'em?" Nathan asked quietly, keeping his deep baritone low so as not to interrupt what little rest his friend was getting as he worried over that dog, that family.

"I think Mr. Stout was barely feeding his family, let alone keeping that dog from starving. I think they're long gone."

"Damn. I didn't know. I never had dealings with them," Nathan said, deeply disturbed.

"The family kept all of us at arm's length, except apparently Ezra."

"And he was likely just lookin' out for those kids," Nathan said knowingly. "I didn't know much about them," he added, regret in his voice, "but I knew there were two new children in the area. I was planning a visit out that way in the new year."

"He probably brought them food for the dog … "

"And treats for the little ones," Nathan interrupted.

Chris looked back over to his resting friend. "You sure he's gonna be all right?"

"Do you want the rundown?" Chris nodded. "Broke his right arm, but it was a simple fracture. It'll heal in a couple of months. Put a dozen stitches in his head … got hit worse than he was acting."

"That's not surprising," Chris said as he turned back to Nathan.

"And he's got a cold."

"Also not surprising."

"No. But Chris, he's bruised up his left side something fierce. Gonna be in pain for a while from that."

"How long?"

"Hard to say. I don't want him moving for a few days, just to make sure he gets a good start on healing. I reckon he won't be gettin' around without some help for a week to ten days. We'll have to see if that bruising is deep enough that he can't put weight on that left leg."

"Damn," Chris said softly. "Seems an awful lot to have to deal with all at one time."

"Yeah. I got him to drink some tea for the pain, but I can't imagine that it's doing enough," Nathan said.

"Can we move him? This ain't no place to spend Christmas.

"Neither is the clinic. And he ain't up for gettin' hauled up stairs or a bumpy wagon ride," Nathan warned.

"We'll have to figure something out. Go get J.D. Vin and Buck oughta be by in about an hour. The kid and I will head straight out, and you can have the boys spell ya for a while."

"There ain't gonna be any problem getting people to spend time with Ezra. Casey all ready headed out to let Nettie know, Mary and Inez have been right helpful, Mr. Heidegger stopped in offering his assistance, so did Mrs. Potter. She brought some scones and a pie." Chris' stomach growled … he hadn't managed lunch today. He and Nathan shared a smile at the rumble. "Others have stopped in, too. Inez thanked them all and she and Mary will keep track of who offered help."

"He's had more of an impact on the people of this town than he realizes," Chris commented.

"Seems so." Nathan grasped Chris' arm fondly. "I'll go get J.D." Chris walked over to the man on the cot. He saw that someone had brought in several chairs from the saloon. He grabbed one and set it beside Ezra, and right next to Fred.

"Ezra," he said. The injured man's eyes were closed, and slight moisture could be seen on his forehead and his upper lip. Chris put his hand on his head, pushing up the damp bangs, but it didn't feel overly warm; probably just warm from the fire. Chris moved his hand from the forehead to the left arm and called louder, "Ezra."

Ezra moved his hand, feeling Fred beneath him. He rubbed the dog affectionately, opened his eyes and said, "Chris." As Ezra coughed from the simple utterance, Chris smiled sadly at how the man rarely used Chris' given name, except for in times of stress, illness or injury. The blond made a promise to himself to work on that aspect of their relationship, the one where Ezra still felt compelled to keep the status quo, when he was fairly sure that their relationship had moved on well beyond what it was when Ezra felt the need to keep the relationship so formal. The gambler interrupted the gunslinger's musings with a question. "Have you sent our compatriots out to the Stout homestead?"

He hated to tell Ezra what he was thinking, that the Stout homestead had likely been abandoned, that he thought they'd left the dog to fend for himself. The brief pause in answering had the con man's green eyes open wide, his acute senses on alert.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Ain't nothin' wrong." Good job, Chris. Short and angry, that ought to convince him that everything was fine. He took in a long, soothing breath and said more calmly, "Nothin's wrong. Vin and Buck just got back a while ago. They're gettin' cleaned up and a bite to eat. As soon as Nate gets back here with J.D., the kid and me will go see if there's a problem."

"Chris, there is a problem." The leader of their group just stared back, but he already knew that Ezra'd read his reaction; he was nowhere near as adept at presenting a poker face as the professional game player was. "You think something's wrong, too," Ezra said, followed by a series of coughs. He was laying propped up on pillows, which seemed to be helping, and he wasn't trying to hide the cough, which Ezra had been known to do in the past, and had only ended up extending his previous periods of illness.

"Ezra, I'm gonna be straight with you … "

"Ah only evah expect that from you," Ezra interjected.

Chris smiled. "Yeah, well, I don't like what I'm thinking, but what I think is that the Stouts lit out of here and dumped that poor animal faster than … "

"No," Ezra said emphatically. "You're wrong about that."

"I don't think I am."

"Well, Ah find mahself hopin' that you are correct," Ezra countered, coughed, and then continued, "because it pains me to think of any alternative reason that ends well." He took as deep a breath as seemed reasonable, attempting to avoid the unavoidable: he coughed, and sank deeper into the pillow, and then put his hand down on Fred's back. It seemed that no matter what they found out, it was going to be bad news. Chris leaned down and petted the dog's head and then stood to retrieve the pitcher of water.

"You should try to sleep. It's gonna be at least an hour and a half, riding in this mud, before we get back."

"Be careful out there," Ezra said, his face showing his apprehension for what might have caused Fred to run from his home, and his worry that his friends were riding into the same trouble that the little dog had fled.

"We will." Chris poured fresh water in Ezra's glass. "Here, take a drink," he said as he sat back down on the chair, leaning over to hold the glass for his friend.

"Thank you," Ezra answered once he'd taken all he could.

"You're welcome. Now, close your eyes. I'll be here 'til Nathan gets back."

"Damn it, Vin!" Buck yelled.

"Ssssh," the tracker warned, his eyebrows furrowing in annoyance at the town Lothario's loud response to losing the hand. He took a surreptitious glance at the gambler, and saw him yawn, wince, and blink his eyes.

"Too late, Mistah Tanner."

"Ya see? You woke him up."

"Hey, sorry, Ez," Buck apologized.

"No mattah," Ezra said amenably though tiredly. He coughed slightly, looked around, and could tell with the color of the light streaming through the lone window in the large room that it was growing dark. He yawned again, winced as the simple movement caused pain as Nathan's embroidery job pulled uncomfortably on his head, and finally asked, "What time is it?"

"They're late," Vin answered, knowing that the question asked wasn't what really interested the ailing gambler.

Ezra frowned. "But not long overdue," he stated, followed by another cough.

"Near three-quarters of an hour," Buck said, unable to hide the concern that tainted the words.

"Yes, Ah can see that it is too long if Mistahs Larabee and Dunne found nothing untoward," Ezra said, worry mixed with deep sadness evident in his tone. He put his hand down to pet Fred, the action no doubt comforting to both human and canine alike. He coughed, and Vin brought over a cup of tea.

"Nathan said you should drink this," he said as he sat in the chair near the bed. "You need help?" the tracker asked as Ezra removed his hand from Fred's neck and took the cup.

"No." He looked in the container that he held with his one good hand and, before trying it, asked, "Somethin' new and revolting for the holiday season?" He drank the warm beverage down, his eyes raised at the soothing feel and pleasant flavor.

Money exchanged hands between Vin and Buck. "I was sure he wouldn't say anything if it tasted better," Vin said.

"That only works if he drinks it before he gets a chance to mouth off," Buck said with a smile as he pocketed the cash.

"You are so amusin', Buck, Ah almost forgot to laugh." Ezra did smile at the exchange. "How did Ah get so fortunate as to have whiskey, honey and lemon in mah medicinal tea?" He yawned again as he handed the cup back to Vin, the surprisingly pleasant concoction already soothing his throat.

"The honey and the lemon was from Nathan. You can consider the whiskey an early Christmas present," Buck grinned.

"Ah am afraid your gift is still unwrapped, up in mah room," Ezra countered. He coughed and then added in warning, "Do not go rooting through mah abode." The con man was finding his efforts to keep from falling soundly asleep were catching up to him. Even when Buck had woken him earlier, he'd not really been asleep, he'd just been dozing as he listened to the discussion they were holding as they played a game of poker. Vin and Buck shared a glance and remained quiet as Ezra fell into exhausted slumber.

Buck positioned himself at the window to watch for his oldest and newest friends' return. The men were pushing an hour and a half late when, with the sun setting behind them in the distance, the two men, riding in the front of a wagon with their horses trailing behind could be seen slowly making their way into town. Chris and J.D. had returned, but they had not returned empty handed.

"Damn," Buck said under his breath as he headed for the door.

"What?" Vin asked.

"J.D. and Chris are steerin' a wagon." Vin put his head down and shook it, and then looked up at the sleeping lawman, who had befriended two kids and a dog and would soon be learning what had happened that left this dog resting obediently by his side.

Buck eased the door closed behind him, grabbed his coat and then rushed out the batwing doors, running to catch up with the wagon as it came to a stop at the undertaker's. Nathan ran up to join them.

"What happened?" Buck asked as the healer raised the blanket covering one of the bodies.

"Looks like they were overcome by smoke," Chris said.

"Fire?" Buck asked. He didn't think the Stouts lived so far out of town that someone wouldn't have seen the plumes of smoke from a house fire. And it tore at him thinking that this family would die in this manner; it was so important to be careful in the dry desert with fires.

"Didn't catch fire, just smoke," J.D. said as he stepped down from the passenger side of the wagon and went to carry the bodies inside.

Nathan frowned. "Was the house overcome with smoke?" he asked.

"By the time we got there it seemed cleared out," Chris responded.

"Uh-huh," the healer said as he examined Matthias Stout's body.

"What?" Chris asked.

Nathan stopped what he was doing and looked up. "We'll get a better look inside," he said as Buck and J.D. helped the new undertaker Tom Arthur carry the family inside. "You'd need a lot of smoke, or something deadly burning to cause death with so little evidence of soot on their bodies. Mr. Stout didn't appear to have a lot of soot up his nose."

"Do you think something else could have caused their deaths?" Chris asked, his mind moving quickly through other possibilities, other questions. Did those boys have anything to do with it, if it wasn't just a horrible accident? Did they have killers in their midst? Had anything happened to the mother and daughter before they died? He hadn't seen evidence of such himself.

And how were they going to tell Ezra? One thing was certain: they would not be telling their ailing friend until they knew more.

"I don't want Ezra to know about this yet."

Nathan looked quizzically at their leader. "I'd rather not tell him until we know more, but I don't see how you can keep it from him for long."

"I need you to find some answers," Chris directed.

"We'll let you know soon," Nathan replied. "Can you make sure Ezra's … "

"I got it," Chris answered. Buck approached them both. "Buck, I need you or the kid to go spell Josiah. Need him over at the saloon."

"I'll go," Buck agreed. "J.D., go get some rest." The young man had been up and moving non-stop all day.

"Think I will," he said tiredly.

"Thanks for your help, J.D.," Chris said. The kid's calm, his professionalism in light of the horror of finding the entire family dead had been what helped Chris to remain composed through all of it. So much of the last while reminded him of events he really no longer wanted to remember. He yearned to remember the good times, but not that moment of finding his wife and little boy dead.

"This has been a shit day," J.D. replied sadly.

"Couldn't put it better myself," Buck said as he watched the rounded shoulders of his friend as he headed for some well-deserved rest.

"Just so we're clear, we don't tell him anything about … "

"Chris," Josiah said, "how do you expect him to sit there and not hear from you what you found?"

"We don't know anything yet," the leader of their group insisted. He didn't want Ezra to have to worry about this; he wanted him to concentrate on healing. He wanted them to just use this holiday time for the seven of them and their friends to be together, that this stretch of peace and harmony that the town had enjoyed would not have been interrupted by Ezra getting hurt by thoughtless kids, by a family dying in their home as they tried to stay warm, by a poor, lonely dog left homeless.

"We know they're dead," the preacher corrected, his blue eyes boring into Chris', which were so full of contrasting emotions, a rarity for those who knew well the single-minded aspect of Chris Larabee's nature.

Chris was developing a headache. He rubbed his forehead, sighed and reluctantly conceded. "Yeah. We've got to tell him."

"Yes, we do."

"And you don't think those boys had anything to do with it?" Chris asked, needing to verify it one more time. Josiah had gotten them to talk, and it did now seem unlikely bordering on impossible that they'd been involved in whatever had killed the Stouts.

"All right. Then let's go in and tell him what we know."

"It's the right thing to do," the big man assured his friend.

"It's shit, Josiah. All of it." He used J.D.'s wording, because it perfectly described everything that had gone on that day. _Merry Christmas_, he thought sarcastically as he opened the door and entered what had become known in these short few hours as Ezra's sanctuary, an appellation for which the southerner would no doubt enjoy the irony, once he felt a little better.

It was now suppertime, and he found Mary and Inez sitting with the gambler. They were all three seemingly enjoying a meal together, the women both lit up with laughter at something the charming man had said. They all turned to look at the new arrivals. It was when Ezra looked squarely at them that Chris could see that the man was simply putting on a show for the ladies. It was just as clear that the two beautiful women were willing participants in the ruse. Worry was written all over three faces, but Ezra's showed it the most. Chris and Josiah had spoken with Vin, updating him on what they knew, and heard from the tracker that Ezra had been experiencing only disturbed, interrupted rest all day. They really hadn't needed that inside information from Vin, though. It was obvious from the tired countenance, the heavy eyelids blinking over glazed green eyes. He was exhausted, and what they had to say wasn't likely to help.

"Mistah Larabee," Ezra said, looking him dead in the eye. He needn't bother to ask the question; there was only one thing any of them wanted to hear about.

"They're dead, Ezra." Mary gasped at the news. Her son Billy had played with young Gunther Stout when the family would come to town for supplies, which was the only time, save an occasional visit with the Heiddegers, that the family was ever seen around Four Corners proper. Inez whispered a quiet prayer; Josiah had his head down as well. Ezra just stared at Chris, waiting for more specifics. He would need to know more in order to comprehend the dreadfulness of what he'd just been told.

"Don't know yet what happened. There was a powerful smell of smoke, burned our eyes some, but it was mostly gone when we got there. Nathan and Tom are looking them over now."

Ezra blinked and shook his head faintly. He reached down for Fred, forgetting that he had a plate on his lap. Mary caught it before it fell to the floor. The healing man laid his head back into his pillow and sighed, followed by a quick cough, and then closed his eyes. They could all see the Herculean effort he was making to hold it together. A lone tear fell from his right eye, but he immediately took his good hand and flicked it away. And then he suddenly changed the subject.

"What of the men who rode roughshod through our hamlet?"

"The boys … " Josiah started.

"Boys?" Ezra asked archly.

Chris and Josiah frowned at the reaction.

"They are brothers, Melchior, Caspar and Balthazar Moore."

Ezra offered a derisive snort. "Josiah, you most assuredly," he started before being interrupted by a harsh cough, "were not born yesterday." Josiah just sat back, biting his tongue on any retort … for now. "Do you not believe it rather improbable that the three men who endangered our municipality and its citizens could possibly be named after such famous alleged _wise_ men?"

Chris put his head down and smiled, then looked up and saw Josiah, stone-faced and stern-looking. "I didn't say it as fancy, Josiah, but that's pretty much what I said, Ezra." Chris looked at the gambler who appeared tired but still interested in the story of the brothers and how they'd come to do what they'd done.

"They and their parents are new to the area, bought the old Langley place. The boy … s … ." Josiah stuttered to a stop and thought better at his vocabulary, deciding that Ezra was right about one thing: when one was seventeen and the other two in their twenties, it was not appropriate to call them boys. They all might still call J.D. 'Kid', but by definition and experience he could no longer be characterized as a boy, its meaning when used in this context denoting a child rather than an adult. What these young men had done, the results they had wrought, could not be called childish in any way.

"Go on," Ezra insisted softly.

"The brothers have apologized and have agreed to come, with their parents, Mary and Joseph Moore … "

"Good lord," Ezra said, disbelief dripping from his still-silky but cold-deepened voice.

"They seem deeply, genuinely sorry. They had been traveling for weeks and today was the first day that they hadn't spent working to get their place livable." The Langley place had been abandoned for going on half a year; they'd even stopped checking it regularly on their patrols. They had heard tell that someone had bought the place, but it was only word of mouth that had come from the Judge to Mary and then to the lawmen. They were planning to add the place back to the patrol once they knew someone was moved in. Chris and Ezra had been surprised to hear that the place was occupied; it would have needed work _before_ someone moved in, but it seemed the Moores had found it livable enough.

Ezra sat forward a little and said, "Am Ah to assume that Ah am expected to accept this apology as appropriate recompense for all that Ah have suffered at their thoughtless hands, or rather, their equines' hooves?" The southerner managed to get his entire concern stated without a cough. He rested back against the pillow and let loose with the cough, a paroxysm that he'd obviously been consciously suppressing. Inez stepped up to him and pushed him forward slightly, rubbing his back warmly. Ezra picked up a handkerchief, and then the pretty Mexican slapped him hard on the back. He spit into the cloth; Chris and Josiah witnessed what had likely been happening on and off for a while. None of the three who had just shared a meal seemed all that embarrassed by what had just gone on. It was a testament to how he felt about these women that Ezra would be comfortable with such an intimate act occurring in front of them.

"No," Chris countered. "If you want to press charges against them, that's your right. Judge's comin' to town, anyway." If Chris had his way, he would force the Judge to hear the case because he thought, at minimum, these _boys_ needed a harsher 'lesson' than being forced to spend time with Josiah and to apologize to Ezra. They'd reluctantly agreed to Josiah's conditions, which included time spent helping Josiah fix up the church. Of course, Josiah had been pretty confident that the con man would agree to said conditions, despite the fact that none of these conditions had any net positive, immediate benefit to the injured man. Of course, that had happened before they'd all found out the real reason why Fred the dog was sticking so close to Ezra. Alas, Chris' better angel – his lovely Sarah – forced him to argue on the brothers' behalf.

"It's Christmas, Ez," he started.

"Heavens … I'd nearly forgot," Ezra retorted bitterly.

"I was hoping that maybe you might be the bigger man and let this family celebrate their first Christmas out here, together," Chris reasoned, though he knew he was only working on … _faith_ … that Ezra was the bigger man, because he hadn't given Ezra a reason to be so forgiving that was better than the aches and pains that were the reasons not to.

"Ah should somehow show good will to these men as we suffer the deaths of a family that we at least knew, even just a little, a family that will not now be here to celebrate their own first Christmas, out heah." Josiah was breathing heavily. He no doubt had something to say, but was working hard not to say it, in deference to Ezra's injuries and emotions. Chris knew that the gambler would come around, but not before he was clearly heard. It seemed that Ezra didn't think that Josiah was listening closely enough, so he made it plainer.

"Josiah, Ah will agree that in celebration of this pagan festival, Ah will accept the ills wrought by these … brothers. Allow me to quote from your good book, Luke, Chapter 2, Verse 14, Ah believe it is: 'On earth peace, good will toward men.'"

"Thank you, Ezra," Josiah said, followed by, "But didn't you forget part of the verse?" Mary sighed miserably. Chris looked to her in surprise as she looked disgustedly at Josiah.

"Ah have quoted the relevant part."

"Ezra … " Josiah began, but Mary Travis had heard and seen enough.

"Ezra gave you what you wanted. He needs to rest," she said as she stood and herded Josiah to the door.

The preacher saw that an impenetrable wall had just gone up between he and the gambler. It was made up of flesh and blood – Mary, Inez and Chris – but his own words, and his inability to quit while he was ahead, had been its architect.

"I'll go see how long Nathan will be," he said as he left.

"Mah apologies," Ezra said to those who remained. "Ah realize that many in this town are good Christians. Ah did not wish to belittle … ." He didn't finish as he became consumed by a series of coughs. By the end, his head hurt, his chest hurt, his entire body seemed to thrum with pain. He closed his eyes and rested, catching his breath. He heard movement around him, but had little energy left to worry over what was going on. He felt a cool cloth on his forehead, opened his eyes and saw Mary smiling down at him.

"There are many who believe that this country was founded on freedom of religion. For many of us, that means the freedom for people to exercise their religious beliefs … _if _they have them. Not having them does not disqualify you from anything, except maybe from what a lot of so-called Christians can be: a hypocrite." Ezra blinked away sudden tears, shocked that he was hearing this coming from Mary Travis. "Your beliefs being different than mine doesn't make you any less in my eyes, or less dear in my heart."

Chris smiled. Mary really was a special lady. He walked up, put his hand warmly on her shoulder and asked, "Could Ezra and I have a minute alone?"

Mary set the cloth back in the bowl on her lap, and then placed the bowl on the nearby table. "Inez?" she asked. The Mexican barkeep brought a mug over, handing it to Mary, who monitored Ezra's consumption of its contents. A similar flavor as last time brought a faint smile to his face. He handed the cup back to the beautiful blonde, but grasped her hand tight at the same time. Their eyes met, and they held each others' gaze until Ezra finally spoke.

"Thank you." Mary knew the note of appreciation was for more than the unusually drinkable medicinal tea. She smiled as they untangled hands and mug, and then Inez and Mary left the two men alone.

Chris sat down and petted the dog.

"What will we do with him?" Ezra asked.

"We'll figure it out." Chris looked up from the dog to Ezra. "You've been complaining about the lack of a proper Christmas 'festival' for two years."

"And this will likely be the third."

"But you don't believe … "

"Nor do you."

"But I don't give a shi … "

"Chris, all of these things – St. Nicholas, the tree – these are all the pagan aspects of the traditional Christmas celebration that Ah bring up that drive Josiah mad."

"You usually keep your feelings to yourself about … this holiday."

"As do you," Ezra agreed.

"But you like the tree," Chris said.

"Ah do. Ah cannot explain it properly," he said, quickly followed by a yawn. "Certainly not today." He looked at Chris seriously. "Does Mistah Jackson believe that the Stouts … "

"He doesn't know, and he won't know until he and Tom finish their examinations."

At that moment, the door opened. It was Nathan, followed by Josiah, Mary and Inez.

"Well?" the fatigued gambler asked.

"Creosote," Nathan said.

"Creosote?" Chris and Ezra mimicked back together.

"Looks like the chimney had a build-up. We can confirm that when we go out there and take a look. But with the build-up, and the constant use of the fireplace now that winter's hit, they've probably been breathing in deadly amounts in a smoky house. Mr. Stout's lungs were black. They weren't getting proper ventilation. The house was probably always smoky and they never noticed. Seems that last night the build-up caught up with them. It was just chance that the whole house didn't burn down. They went peaceful, though," Nathan concluded, looking to Ezra. "They died in their sleep. They didn't feel any pain."

Ezra shook his head and closed his eyes once more. "Chance," he whispered.

"Are you all right?" the healer asked, wishing for all he was worth that he'd chosen a different word, not wanting his friend to dwell on this, as he likely would, trying to come up with a scenario where the Stouts' chances of living rather than dying might have placed the odds in the family's favor.

"Ah am … Ah really do not know."

"Let me take a look at you."

"Nathan, please. Ah ache, mah head, mah chest from coughing, which, by the way, does seem improved, mah leg." Mah heart. "When you asked if Ah was all right, Ah assumed you meant with mah emotions. With the Stouts … " He didn't finish and, with these good friends surrounding him, he knew he didn't have to.

"I meant that, too, Ezra. You sure you're okay?"

"Yes. Missus Travis cleaned and … re-bandaged mah head, she … checked the swelling in mah knee, and … Inez fed me more tea not long ago." He yawned as he spoke ever more slowly, his accent thickening, drifting toward sleep.

"Maybe you'll sleep now," Chris said quietly, hopefully.

Ezra looked down at the dog and smiled sadly. He scratched Fred's neck, and the dog twisted his body, folding his neck around his back, nearly coiled like a snake at the pleasure of it. Ezra's smile seemed less sad in the blink of an eye.

"Perhaps," the injured man uttered as his hand stilled and he fell to sleep.

"Think he'll be all right?" Nathan asked in a whisper.

"We'll make sure he is. He knows now there was nothing we could have done to change things. Stout was a hard man to get close to."

"But his children weren't. Been hearin' 'bout how the boy made friends easy … " Nathan offered.

"Let's step out and let Ezra sleep," Mary said. They all followed her into the saloon. Once the door was closed, she continued, "Billy got along so well with Gunther. I think they could have been best friends if they'd been able to spend more time together. I dread having to tell him … "

Josiah put his arm around her shoulder in comfort. "Little Elsbeth was helping some of the younger children with their assignments from Ez's afternoon sessions," Josiah related what Nathan had told him on the way back from the undertaker's. The preacher seemed to have calmed himself from earlier. Chris was lucky he was surrounded by such good and forgiving men.

"I thought the Stouts were home schooling and not interested in Ezra's afternoon schedule," Mary said questioningly. Ezra had started the afternoon 'classes' to help the parents in the town get their work days finished without having to mind the children during the busiest parts of their day, and to help the children with any homework from their own lessons at home. All schooling of the children was home schooling until the town could find a proper teacher. They were at the point now, with the size of the town, that this was the highest order of importance, the selection of a teacher for the schoolhouse that would be built in the spring.

Nathan shook his head and smiled. "The parents weren't. But Elsbeth wanted to help. That's what Tom was telling me; both of his kids take advantage of the sessions," a necessity for the man who not only was the undertaker but also the veterinarian for the town. "He said Ezra would pick her up on the days he had patrol in the afternoon, she would work with the younger kids, and then Ez would take her back before coming back for some time spent at the poker table."

"Must've been dropping her behind Mrs. Potter's," Josiah said. Mrs. Potter had offered her back room for Ezra to run his afternoon classes.

"He's going to hurt over this. I didn't know … " Chris said, not completing the thought.

"I'm not sure he wants people to know all of the things he does to help," Nathan noted.

"Or he just doesn't care if they do," Josiah said. "Damned frustrating man," he added.

It was true. Ezra Standish was full of surprises. Maybe, just maybe, Chris would be able to pull off a surprise of his own for the gambler this Christmas.

"We three kings of Orient are,

Bearing gifts we travel so far"

Ezra's eyebrow furrowed and then raised up high on his forehead at the lyrics. He hissed slightly at the pain. Did he just hear that right?

"J.D.," he interrupted.

"Geez, let me get one verse out before interrupting, huh Ez?"

"Would that Ah could, Mistah Dunne. Where on earth did you learn those lyrics?"

"Well … I don't know. Seems I just always knew 'em."

_Ah, hell_, the gambler thought. So he'd probably learned them wrong from his dear, departed mother. As his own mother always said, persistently and annoyingly, 'Silence is golden'.

"Are they wrong?" the young easterner asked. He watched, waiting, as Ezra seemed caught in the middle of a daydream. "Ezra!"

"Yes. Mah apologies, J.D. You were sayin'?"

"Are they wrong? The words?"

"Uh … " Ezra looked over to Vin, who wore a sly smile and was purposefully avoiding looking his way. Chicken.

"Maybe Ah misheard what you were singin'," the con man said, using the skills he learned from his mother for good for a change. "Proceed," he encouraged.

J.D. started from the top. Oh, joy. At least he had a tolerable singing voice.

"We three kings of Orient are,

Bearing gifts we travel so far,

Field and fountain, more than mountain … "

Ezra cringed, inwardly, once more, and then heard:

"Following yonder star.

O-Oh, star of wonder, star of night,

Star with royal beauty bright,

Westward leading, still proceeding,

Guide us to thy perfect light."

At least he had the chorus down. Ezra listened as J.D. mangled more and more words as he got to less familiar verses. It didn't matter. Ezra liked Christmas carols, one more thing derived from pagan ritual. He smiled and closed his eyes. It had been decided that since Ezra couldn't be moved, the holiday celebration for the Seven and their friends would be right here. The gambler could hear as Casey and Mary hung decorations. He could smell wonderful aromas wafting in from the kitchen, and couldn't wait to sample them now that his appetite seemed over the shock of events now two days past. He'd been depressed, as down as he could recall being in quite some time, over his injuries … and other loss. He'd come to terms with both as he realized how truly, to use a word from Josiah's dictionary, _blessed_ he was to be in this place. The Moores had stopped by, and all five seemed genuinely repentant; Ezra felt certain that they would no longer see such behavior from these men named Melchior, Caspar and Balthazar. How could they, really?

The other? Well, Fred was still around, charming everyone with the tricks Ezra had taught him. They would need to find a real home for the dog, eventually, but with Ezra laid up for a while, and someone always around to help him – and let the dog out to attend to his own _ablutions_ - there was no harm in letting Fred have run of the house, or at least, the back room of the saloon.

The door from the saloon swung open sharply and hit the wall. Hard. Ezra jumped, and then winced, as he looked toward the entryway. J.D. and Vin were both ready with their weapons drawn, but it was immediately obvious that they would not need their guns. At the door were Chris and Buck, hauling in the most ridiculously huge pine tree. When they finally got the tree through the door, Josiah and Nathan followed, toting a large crate. Mrs. Potter and Nettie Wells followed with a tree stand and a large bucket of water. The men found a perfect spot, and Nettie placed the stand on the target area. Then, all seven lawmen, less Ezra, were involved in the effort to get the huge Christmas tree in its stand and standing straight and secure. Josiah grabbed the roll of twine that was in amongst the decorations in the crate and threw it to Vin as J.D. made his way to the floor to make sure the trunk set correctly in the stand. Buck stood back, 'supervising', checking that the tree stood perfectly upright as Josiah and Nathan held the tall evergreen up.

"That is a big tree, Mistah Larabee," Ezra commented wryly. Chris came over and sat next to the gambler, deciding that five men, with the assistance of all those women, would be sufficient in getting the tree ready in time for their Christmas Eve supper.

"It is," Chris agreed as he breathed heavily from his exertions, and then again to get a good whiff of the pine scent now successfully overtaking the aroma of cooking, for now.

"Ah thought you told me there would be 'No Christmas trees in my town'," the southerner said, masking his lilting accent with the broader strokes of Chris' Indiana inflection.

The Indiana native smiled and said, "I did say that. But things change." Chris felt as though the man sitting up in bed was examining him. "What?"

Softly, so that his voice did not carry to anywhere else in the room, Ezra said, "This is your first tree since you lost your family."

"I don't like to call it that. I didn't lose them, they were taken from me," he replied, making a special effort to keep his voice low and level.

"Forgive me. Of course. But, am Ah correct?"

"Yeah."

"May Ah ask why?"

Chris saw the warmth shining from Ezra in the asking of the question. It was brave to ask, but Chris had learned early on that Ezra was a brave man. It took longer for Chris Larabee to recognize that Ezra was a good man, a man who would always have his back. The setting sun shone upon Ezra's gold tooth, shining like the North Star. Chris knew that he would never need a star to guide him home. He was home, home for the holidays. It was the first time he'd felt this way since … since the deaths of his wife and son.

"I finally feel like I have a reason to celebrate," Chris explained.

"Mistah Larabee, have you found 'ligion?" he asked, using the phrasing of some of the slaves he'd known as a child as he'd been left with distant relatives, and others, of his mother's choosing, when he'd become too burdensome for her to handle.

"I have not, but that doesn't mean I don't like how it feels to be home for the holidays."

Ezra could see the next thing his friend was thinking, and said so. "You never thought you'd feel home again."

"Ez, I didn't think I'd ever care to feel what it was like to have a home again. I didn't think I'd live long enough."

"Yet here you are."

"Here I am."

Ezra's eyes grew large as he looked up behind Chris. "Ah believe our compatriots could use your assistance," he said as he leaned his head way right in a vain effort to coax the big tree leaning way left to right itself.

"Shit," Chris said as he jumped out of his seat. Ezra laughed, and how amazing was that? That he could feel this way so soon after experiencing such a horrid day.

He thought of the brothers: Melchior, Caspar and Balthazar. Wise men certainly not. But not bad men. And then he thought of the gifts that the real wise men brought for the baby Jesus. Gold, frankincense, myrrh. Good enough gifts, he supposed, for such a story. He preferred to think of the three gifts that he had gained in these few years as he made his home in this dusty western town.

Brotherhood. The kinship of six men, dare he say … the love? Because though he wasn't especially experienced in the way it felt to be loved, outside of an occasional romantic liaison, and a 'what might have been' with a lovely Oriental girl, he was fairly sure that what he felt with these men was what it would feel like to have a brother. Brothers. Six brothers, older, younger. So different, but sharing so much.

Worthiness. The trust of these men, hard-won in battle, harder to retain after his own shortcomings that he was never willing to hide and knew would come off badly, initially. Self-inflicted wounds as well could have done him in in how they perceived him. But persistence, on their part as well as his own, had ultimately proved that he was worthy of their admiration and the admiration of the people - both native and immigrant to this area, like himself – and a town that gave him his third gift:

A Place to Call Home. Home for the holidays, indeed. It rang true for him in every possible way this year. There was no place like home for the holidays. Ezra looked down at Fred. He gave the sweet dog a warm tap on his broad head, and then looked at the comedy unfolding before him. And he smiled at his good fortune.

The End.


End file.
